Her Antic Disposition
by Emmeebee
Summary: They were two kids playing pretend until the fantasy came crashing down. She put up her defences like a flag; he fell for her antic disposition like a clown. They fought on opposite sides, worlds apart; in her armour, they never made a dent. Finally, pipes stop sounding, they rise like phoenixes, and reality sets in like dried cement. Companion piece: Caged Birds.
1. Just Two Kids

**A/N**: So, this is another prompt fill for that Facebook group I mentioned. It's eight chapters long and will be spanning a period of several years. I've tweaked the prompt to fit this pair, but the initial prompt will be in the author's note at the end of the final chapter for anyone who's interested. If anyone decides to write something for it, please let me know! I'd love to see where you go with it, and I'm sure the others would too.

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><p><em><strong>They were two kids playing pretend <strong>_

**(2 March 1988)**

"Let's go outside," his cousin suggests, holding out her hand, and he takes it and lets her pull him along. He's never much been one for the outside other than the required tea parties, but he always makes an exception when he visits Luna. She seems inherently drawn to the outdoors, as if the sky itself is the Pied Piper calling her out with soft notes and sweet promises, and there's something contagious about her guileless joy.

He always likes spending time at her house. Her parents are more lenient and affectionate than his, and the house and gardens have a neat but casually random aesthetic that pleasantly conflicts with the pristine perfection of the manor. The importance of subtle shows of status has been well and truly imparted upon him, but that doesn't lesson his appreciation of places that seem somehow intrinsically removed from that culture of expectation and snobbery.

When they're out of the house and away from his parents' watchful gazes, she lets go of his hand and spins around in a circle, her arms outstretched and face upturned like a blooming sunflower. "It feels so free out here," she says. "I'd live out here if I could."

He doesn't know about the latter statement, but he has to agree with the first. "It does feel rather open."

She stumbles to a stop and turns around to face him, her eyes holding that glazed look that comes over them when her mind is focused on faraway things and places. "Would you live out here with me?"

"I don't think I could," he says. He doesn't want to hurt her feelings, so he tells her a half-truth: "Mother and Father would never let me."

"We could sneak away. The animals around here are lovely, and there's an unused cabin at the back of the property that we could use when it rains, and Daddy would bring us food."

The appeal of living closed off from the world is definitely alluring. He could see himself living in the moment with her somewhere, but he knows that would be an affront to the Malfoy name; Malfoys demand attention and respect, and there wouldn't be much of either of them out there. Furthermore, _he _demands attention and respect. It's nice to think of running away from it all, but he knows he'd hate it within the hour.

"I like being indoors, and with lots of people," Draco finally admits. "I don't think I could handle living outside where it's dirty and where spiders or wolves or Red Caps could come get you. I'd visit you, though."

This time Luna smiles, and Draco knows he gave the right answer. He's not used to the right answer being the _truth_, of course, but supposedly it is in this case. "Do you want to see where it is?"

"Of course."

She runs inside to tell her parents where they're going, leaving him in the garden by himself. A rustling from the bushes catches his attention, and he spies a garden gnome peeking out between two bunches of leaves. _That kind of thing would never be permitted at Malfoy Manor, _he thinks snidely, before tamping down on that reaction. His parents _wouldn't _tolerate it, but then again that's part of the charm of the Lovegood Estate. A hand slips into his, and Luna smiles at him again and says, "Let's go." She leads him down along the winding path and through the gate draped in ivy that signifies the change from the walled-in part of their property to the half-wild wonderland on the other side. They pass the small greenhouse where her father likes to study plants, the half-hidden trapdoor entrance to her mother's underground experimental charms lab, and the mossy lake they swam in the last time he came over, chatting ceaselessly the whole time.

"There it is," she cuts in brightly, gesturing to the little rundown wooden structure. It's missing a few planks from its roof and its wood has started to fade, but a veranda wraps around it like a life vest, a few potted plants and chairs spotting its surface. "It doesn't look safe, but Daddy put up charms to keep it standing. Nobody's lived there for _years_."

"It looks quaint," Draco says, and they both know what he really means.

"It doesn't look like much," Luna agrees, "but you can't just judge something by how it looks, can you? If you did, you'd be missing out on so much. Come on; let's go inside. We can make it a clubhouse!"

"I thought you were going to live here," he says, but he starts walking alongside her anyway.

"Oh, no. I would, but I'd miss my parents. Besides, it's so much nicer to think of it as a retreat."


	2. The Illusion Cracks

**A/N**: I'm putting an explanation of the family relations in the A/N at the end of the chapter to straighten out any confusion.

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><p><em><strong>until the fantasy came crashing down.<strong>_

**(14 November 1990)**

"Can you identify this flower?" her mother asks, holding up a single blue flower between them for Luna's perusal. The nine-year-old is sitting on a stool in their greenhouse, a number of picked flowers spread out before her, while her mother asks her to identify the names and then properties of each of them. Despite her father's views that Luna should be kept from the complexity of political life as long as possible, her mother is determined to teach her everything she knows so that the girl will be prepared when it comes time for her to go to school.

"It's a forget-me-not."

"And what can you tell me about the magical properties and uses of forget-me-nots?"

Luna is about to do just that when her aunt breezes into the sanctuary, the train of her blue gown billowing out and floating a few inches above the ground. The lady moved in with them about a week prior. It was supposedly motivated by her desire to spend more time with her brother, but Luna knows that something was off about it. Her mother and aunt are too tense and prone to whispering amongst themselves for it to have really been that. "Pandora, someone was following me today; I'm sure of it this time."

Pandora glances at her daughter before deciding to let her stay for this. She's been keeping it from her because it might affect the girl's relationship with her cousin and endanger her, but she has been going wonderfully with her Occlumency lessons, and it's important that she knows the situation before she goes off to school two years hence. She's protected while under her mother's care, but out there she'll be susceptible to anything her uncle might do to try to manipulate her in accordance with his own ends. "Did you shake them?"

"Yes, I think so." Callidora finally notices her niece's presence, and she ruffles the girl's hair fondly as they exchange greetings.

"You need to tell him that you've changed your mind," Pandora insists. "My brother is persistent; he'll only keep coming until you prove you're not a liability."

"He's my son," she retorts. "I'm not asking to make it publically known, just to be allowed to see him. I should have the right to that, at least, and no one would think it strange if I went with you or Xeno."

Luna watches her curiously; she didn't know Aunt Callidora had a son, and doesn't know why Uncle Lucius would be gatekeeper to her seeing him, or why her parents' presence might temper his prohibition.

"It's imperative to him that no one ever suspects anything. In his mind, if you get private contact with Draco, you'll want more. If you don't tell Lucius you've changed your mind and make an oath not to reveal what happened to anybody else, he _will_ chase you out of the country."

The girl blinks, then tilts her head as she looks at her aunt, her skin the colour of snow and hair not far from it, her blue eyes so pale they could be considered colourless in certain light.

"I just want my son. He's _my _son."

"_I know_. But that's the kind of talking that will get you silenced. I'd suggest you leave the country for a while. Send a letter to Lucius to tell him you're conceding. Then wait. Wait until Draco is seventeen, or until he's finished school, and Lucius has less control over him." Suddenly, Pandora starts, and looks around frantically. "The estate's protective wards are being attacked. It's him."

"We need to get out of here – "

"No, it's too late for that. It wasn't designed to keep family away; it won't hold him off for long, and if we flee it'll look more suspicious." Pandora tugs Luna off her stool and kisses the top of her head forcefully before casting a series of anti-notice and anti-detection spells over her. "Luna, I love you. Go; hide among the orange trees. Don't come out until he's gone, whatever you do."

Luna nods frantically before leaning up to hug her. "Love you too, Mummy," she whispers, before darting away to the indicated hiding spot.

Callidora starts again, her tone frantic. However much she'd spoken of defying Lucius or going around his back, she'd never wanted an actual confrontation with the man. "We need to get out of here. We can Apparate – "

"No. You're going to tell him you're conceding. Callie, it's the only way."

"Whatis the only way?" Lucius' booming voice echoes through the small greenhouse, inflecting ever so slightly on that first word to intone a touch of menace into the sentence. She'd heard him be imposing before when scolding Draco for doing something he considered untoward, and her mother had warned her not to push his buttons, but she'd never heard anything so frightening in her life, or been as sure that something bad was going to happen.

"We were talking about ways of growing flowers," Callidora lies, her voice shaky.

"Really? And what did you come up with?"

"Callie – " Pandora begins, and Lucius' gaze flicks over to her, and Luna just wants them both to get out of there.

"I want to see him, Lucius. It's my right."

"No, actually, it isn't. You agreed on that when the arrangement was made."

"I don't want to tell anyone, I really don't, but if you try to restrict my access to my _son_…"

"You'll what? Tell on me like some infant who isn't getting their way? Come on, Callidora; I'm giving you one chance. Make an Unbreakable Vow not to ever tell anybody… _else _about this, or to try to get it contact with him, and you can walk. I'm sure Pandora would be the binder."

"I can't," Callidora says, and within an instant Lucius has hissed those two final words and a flash of green light fills up the greenhouse, mingling with the green of the plants. When it's receded, all that's left is a stone-faced Lucius watching Pandora as she looks down in horror at the body of her sister-in-law.

"You didn't have to kill her," Pandora scolds, diverting her attention back to her brother. "You could have Obliviated her."

"It's harder to be certain of success when the subject's mind is never fully here nor there, like hers was. There's more chance of missing a hidden connection. I couldn't take that risk. What did she tell you?"

"Everything, as far as I'm aware," she admits. "Narcissa's infertile, so you agreed that you and Callidora would have a baby that you and Cissy would raise as your own. But Callidora started to have second thoughts about the privacy clause."

"Indeed. You won't tell anyone, I trust."

"I won't have to. The Black lordship won't accept him, Lucius. You can fool people, but you can't fool the world. One day it will come out."

"You will mourn for her."

"Of course. She was my friend."

"I am truly sorry, then," Lucius says. "It pains me that she brought you into this. It wasn't your fight, but she's thrown you into the line of fire as if it were."

"_Lucius_," Pandora hisses, and Luna isn't sure why she sounds so worried. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"But if it comes out one day, you will. And I can't risk that. I'm sorry, Pan."

Luna's gazes flickers from his sorrowful but set face to her mother's resigned one just as those two words are repeated, bringing the ominous light through once again. She sees her mother breathing, and then the flash comes, and then she isn't anymore, and she knows that she never will again. Tears well up in Luna's eyes as sobs threaten to come bursting out, but she holds them in by sheer force of will and desperation, remaining dry and quiet as Lucius messes up her aunt's clothes, ripping them and dirtying them with soil from nearby pot plants and making it look like she's been mugged. Tears streak down her face as he turns to her mother, but she still remains silent, watching as he carefully levitates her body and walks it over to the trapdoor, opening it with his unencumbered hand and slipping down it like a python. Luna wants to run, then. He's gone, and her mother only wanted her to stay until he left. But she doesn't know how long he'll be or if he's called others, and she's terrified that he'll catch sight of her as she runs to the house and realise that she had to have been in the greenhouse too. He killed the sister he grew up with out of the possibility that she might someday explain what happened; he wouldn't hesitate to silence the niece he rarely sees.

So she remains there as he returns and Apparates away with her aunt's body, and remains there, face wet and sobs loud now, as the sun rises to its peak and then starts its steady decline. She remains there until her father comes home, and then she runs at him, and he hugs her and asks what's wrong, and she takes him down that trapdoor, where they find Pandora's work area a mess as if an experimental hex had gone terribly wrong.

And, as her father breaks down in tears, she remains there with him, too.

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><p><strong>AN: **Xenophilius and Callidora are siblings; Lucius and Pandora are siblings. They all knew one another since they were at school. Xenophilius married Pandora. Lucius married Narcissa. However, Lucius and Narcissa were unable to have children. Due to whatever political and personal reasons, they chose not to divorce. Lucius and Narcissa went on 'holiday' overseas while Callidora was supposedly off searching for magical creatures, and during this time Callidora gave birth to Lucius' son Draco. They all agreed that Draco would be raised as Narcissa's and that nobody would know.


	3. Defences Go Up

_**She put up her defences like a flag;**_

**(1 September 1992)**

Leaving her father for school feels like a betrayal, even though she knows it isn't. He has deteriorated over the past few years, driven mad by the death of his wife and sister. She knows he always used to toy with the edge of madness, believing in anything and everything to the point where some thought his head would one day just burst from the pressure, but he used to finish each day firmly on the side of sanity. Same with her aunt. But now he seems to want to honour her memory by proving every single theory she had right, and forget about the pain of her mother's death by letting go of that tether that pulled him back each night. Luna humours him. Many of his theories are in fact right, or potentially right, and those that aren't still bring him peace, so she's found that it's better to go along with it than to contradict it. Besides, they still _could _be right, however insane they may sound, and they provide a good cover for her. She knows that her uncle will want Draco to recruit her so that he has all close descendants of the House of Malfoy under his control, and she's determined not to be the kind of person he would deem worthy of recruiting, or of being a competitor. It hurts her, but to make it she needs to pretend that she's forgotten, and to be forgotten in return.

The Sorting Hat places her in Ravenclaw, both for her insatiable curiosity and her safety; her uncle would be suspicious if she were sorted into Slytherin or Gryffindor, and she's too much of a lone wolf to be in Hufflepuff. Still, the sight of Draco's disappointment when he hears the hat shout out the word that distances her from him is heartbreaking. She hasn't seen him, _really _seen him, since that day. Her uncle had acted as if seeing her brought him pain, as if the sight of her hair and sound of her voice twisted the knife of loss further into his open wound, and asserted that it must do so for her too, so they had left the Lovegoods alone to mourn in peace. She did still see him a few times before he went off to school, but they were rarely left alone and she never quite knew what to say to him, choosing instead to adopt the policy to be careful in case what she said got back to his father.

So she needs to be a snake in raven's feathers, alert and ready even when pretending to soar wherever wind currents takes her.

However, she can't bring herself to regret coming. Hogwarts may be a sandpit full of hidden dangers and bullies, but it's still a place of fun exploration.

-h-a-d-

**(2 September 1992)**

The first time he corners her – and, yes, it feels like cornering – is a challenge. It's after her first day of classes and she's leaning against a tree reading over the notes she took from her textbook while Professor Binns was droning on about nothing. She notices him as soon as she hears the sound of his voice as he throws a taunt at a boy he's passing with the mild amusement with which one might kick a nearby stone. Crabbe and Goyle walk behind him, sneering, like gaudy twin pillars in a rose garden, strong and unpleasant and oversized. She knows that Draco doesn't actively mean for their presence to be a threat, but it scares her that he's taking after his father so much already, that he's so used to bringing his friends-slash-bodyguards everywhere for intimidation purposes that he might not have even realised they were accompanying him for a supposedly nice little chat with his cousin. What really almost gets her, though, is the look in his eyes when his gaze returns to her. She's always been able to read him so easily. He's heard whatever lies his father has spun about her, probably that her father has been infecting and eroding her mind and that she's sure to become like him too, and he doesn't believe them; he thinks his father is mistaken, and he wants her to prove that. He desperately wants her to act normal.

_But I need, _she thinks, as she watches him reach the tree she's leaning against, _to do what my mother would tell me to do. _She can still hear her mother's voice telling her to hide ringing in her ears, and she knows exactly what her mother would have wanted her to do.

"Luna," he says, immediately sitting down beside her with a pleasant look on his face. "How have you been?"

"Wonderful. It's amazing here, and the tower has beautiful views. Besides, the grenlo told me you would be coming to talk to me today, so I've spent all day looking forward to it."

That look falters, is replaced by confusion. "The what, sorry?"

"The grenlo," she says, as if its meaning is self-evident.

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means."

"Oh. It's a pixie-like creature that can predict the future. Sometimes, if they're in a good mood and like you, or if they want to mess with your head, they tell people what they see. If it's going to happen anyway, telling people generally doesn't have much of a benefit, not unless they're worried about it to begin with. One of them came to me this morning to tell me you would want to talk to me today and that they saw us meeting under this tree. I've been waiting since classes ended." Luna smiles tolerantly at him. "I rather suspect they wanted to mess with my head. You would have found me anyway, and if I hadn't have known then I wouldn't have been here for so long."

"That sounds really neat." His grin has returned with its full infectious force.

"I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them, though. Most people like to pretend they don't exist. I don't know why." She plucks a flower from the ground between them, glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye just in time to see his grin fall again.

_It hurts, _she thinks. _It all hurts. But now I'm that little bit safer._


	4. Her Antic Disposition

**A/N **Titular chapter! As a point of (potential) interest, this chapter was going to be a one-shot until I realised that it would work well for the prompt, and that if I didn't write something about my conception of Luna and Draco now I'd get to the stage where addressing it in one specific story would just mean regurgitating bits and pieces from my other stories.

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><p><em><strong>he fell for her antic disposition like a clown.<strong>_

**(3 March 1997)**

They all think that her thoughts are always off in some fantasy place with imaginary creatures. She does indeed spend a lot of time thinking about creatures, daydreaming about the real ones and putting together names and features and meanings for the fake ones. Unbeknownst to those around her, however, a great deal of her time is spent watching people, learning about them. It's always easier to observe when you've been regulated to the background, and she's making good use of her position as a wallflower. She rather suspects that she knows more about her classmates as individuals and a collective than anyone else, being in such a unique position in their midst.

Professor Flitwick has known the truth since first year, of course. He has always made a habit to form a good relationship with his students, and it wasn't hard for him to notice when the quiet, clever little daydreamer started sprouting off nonsense whenever certain people were around, or to put together the pieces of what that meant. Professor Slughorn would have been told by now, too; he would want her in his club for her name and for what he saw when he looked past her frontier, but it wasn't feasible with things as they were, and she had no doubt that her Head of House would have decided to run interference so that she didn't draw attention to herself by refusing.

_It really is a shame, _she thinks. _My mother used to say such lovely things about him. It would be delightful to be able to talk to him openly._

Still, that is the way of things. Some things just have to be accepted until circumstances change naturally. In the meantime, they might be able to find a private place to talk under the guise of discussing homework, she supposed; that would be more than sufficient.

She assumes that the Headmaster suspects her to some degree, too. The myriad duties of his three positions leave him unable to spend much time getting to know the students, but she's seen him looking at her with that piercing gaze a few times over the years. She wonders whether he'd tell her if he did, whether he'd see her as a girl in need of help, a girl capable of taking care of herself, or a girl who might someday mean something to his plans. While she doesn't blame the man for his calculating way of seeing people as chess pieces, she doesn't want the exposure that being linked with him would cause, not until she has to.

Of course, she blew her cover a little with the incident at the Ministry at the end of last year. It would have been smarter for her to make some excuse to stay behind, perhaps feign an injury, but she couldn't do that to her friends. Instead, she'd found herself flying off for the Ministry with the knowledge that that night could change everything.

And it had. Her uncle had been there, after all. She hadn't failed to notice his fury at seeing her there, or how the only thing that stopped him from going after her himself was the orders from Voldemort that made the prophecy his top priority. Her act had increased tenfold in the wake of the skirmish – she hadn't increased the frequency of eccentricity, per se, but rather recommitted herself to making anybody who might be watching think that she really had just somehow wandered into helping Harry that day, almost like a dog whose nose had been trailing the ground for so long that she hadn't realised where the intriguing scent was taking her.

She thinks that it's been working. Her cousin and his cronies don't seem any the wiser, at least, and they're her main concern. Luna has no doubt that her uncle would have told Draco to keep an eye on her for any changes. Fortunately, however, Draco wrote her eleven-year-old self off the third time she assumed her antic disposition in his presence, and apparently when he writes somebody off as beneath his notice he doesn't see the point in later revisiting the assessment – something about the permanence of when good opinions were lost, she guessed. Add to that the fact that Crabbe and Goyle won't ever think to check up on her without being told to, and that Parkinson seems to see being near her as a personal affront to blood purity, it isn't likely that any of his friends will become suspicious of her either. And while others pose their own dangers, it's nowhere near as significant.

The price of that, however, is for anyone _she _might befriend to be in the dark as well, which has led to a rather lonely time at school. Her fellow ravens bully her for not following the traditional paths for pursuing intelligence and for sullying their academic reputation – they believe in sources and facts and empirical evidence as a matter of principle, while she tends towards gut instinct and the abstract and hidden knowledge – and everyone else steers clear of her as if she's infectious.

Or, at least, they used to. Being partnered with Ginny Weasley in Potions two years ago was a game changer. While Luna believed that Professor Snape's real reason for making them sit together had been to annoy the Gryffindor rather than the tale of improving her classwork that he had spun, Ginny had been lovely and the girls had eventually become quite close. And now, after last year, she also has Harry and Neville, and Hermione and Ron despite their judgemental way of looking at the blonde, and a number of other people across the school who think she's partially crazy but respect and care about her anyway. It's a strange position to be in, where most of your friends are torn between respecting you and thinking you're mad. She assumes most of them think of her a little like an exceptionally clever but altogether naïve child, and, while it stings a little, she enjoys the knowledge of how easy it would be to surpass their expectations and the freedom that it lends her. Being underestimated is, after all, an asset, and when people expect you to say random things it gives you the scope to act as you like rather than being confined to social expectations.

Luna watches the ants march along the outside of the windowsill in a winding line and drags her own finger across the inside sill in a mimicry of their path. Busy, busy little ants, always going somewhere, always on the move. She wonders what they'd do if they were made to stay still, or at least taskless. Would they find something else to occupy their time, or just appreciate the feel of the soft, damp blades of grass against their feet? She tries to pause and enjoy the actual as much as she can, but it's difficult to do that completely while she still needs to focus on appearances and personas. As much as she tells herself to not to bank her hopes on something that might never even eventuate, she can't help but anticipate a future in which she can shed that second skin of deception.

Her eyes drift over to where her cousin is sitting alone in a fairly concealed corner of the library. He's been acting so odd this year, spending much more time by himself, often in the library. It's unlike him; he prefers crowds and places where he can show off, and their school library with the overly strict librarian provides neither of those. She wants to check on him – while he's unmistakably become a bigoted git, the remnants of the sweet playmate he used to be peak through at times when he's alone – but she knows she can't. Her uncle killed her mother and no one else is doing anything about it. Her whole life revolves around the need to appear mad north-north west; if she does not deceive him, he will silence her in other ways. Her life was, essentially, a partially gender-swapped version of _Hamlet_.

She just hopes that she can do away with the danger her uncle poses while still keeping her hands clean and avoiding the tragic bloodbath.


	5. On Opposite Sides

**A/N **I haven't recreated the cellar scene here because I think doing so would just weaken it, but anyone who's interested in reading what happened down there can find it in chapter 6 of Caged Birds (please note, however, that that story's rated M)_. _The two stories weren't written as companion pieces, so there might be some contradictions between the two, but they explore similar conceptions of Draco and Luna.

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><p><em><strong>They fought on opposite sides, worlds apart;<strong>_

**(2 January 1998)**

He doesn't like the constant awareness that she is down there, a prisoner in the house of her kin. There's been a lot of things that he hasn't liked about his experiences since the Dark Lord's return, but this would have to be one of the ones whose sting he feels the most intensely. The trips he makes to see her does little to assuage his guilt. He was supposed to look after her at Hogwarts. He was supposed to ally himself with her and look out for her and help her deal with the loss of her mother. He was supposed to do a lot of things. But it had been too late by the time she showed up, and it had been too painful to see her regularly, and now he's allied with a tyrant and she's trapped in his cellar and people are dropping dead everywhere. Instead of continuing the legacy of the House of Malfoy together, they're both floundering apart, and he's starting to worry that they both might sink.

Draco's eyes flick up as the Dark Lord strides back up out of the cellar, Greyback and Draco's father trailing behind him. He isn't sure whether or not he wants to know what happened down there. His uncle had already been down there talking to Luna when Greyback realised what he was doing there and went bounding after him. Shortly afterwards, Greyback had come storming back up looking for the Dark Lord, and had taken him back down with him. Draco doesn't like to think of Luna alone with three of the most dangerous people in the country, but he knows that his father doesn't want her hurt while under his roof, so the fact that she is still down there is reassuring.

He was aware of the growing displeasure with his uncle's coverage of Potter, but he had never thought they would go after Luna. She had been so obviously clueless after the incident at the Department of Mysteries, so unthreatening, that he'd fancied her safe. But the threat hadn't come from her, it had come from her father's inability to toe the line.

With rebelliousness like that, he might as well have been a Gryffindor.

_Thinking of Gryffindor foolishness, there has to be a way to keep her safe. _He isn't sure who will win, or even who he wants to win. It's not like Potter and his friends have much of a chance without Dumbledore, but he can't see anyone from their side simply stepping down either, whereas he could see the Death Eaters falling apart once again should the Dark Lord be taken out. The way he runs thinks isn't exactly conducive to ensuring amity and loyalty; he rules by fear and mania, not conviction, and that could be his side's downfall. Still, at the end of the day it will come down to Potter versus the Dark Lord, and Draco isn't sure who will emerge as the victor. It should be easy enough to keep her safe if Potter wins; no one other than Greyback would venture down there for a last minute vindictive strike, and he can keep an eye on the vicious werewolf. If, however, the Dark Lord wins, it might be more complicated. He doesn't know what his father wants with Luna, but he assumes it involves converting her to their side and marrying her off to someone who will keep her in check. _If it comes to that, I'll have to focus on the husband, then. _He knew most of the people who would be viewed as potential candidates; he should be able to push his father towards or away from particular people, and he should also be able to threaten them into treating her decently, as long as he's still alive.

_Well, _he thinks, _I was already planning on staying alive, and Father would most likely consult me regarding potential husbands anyway. The only real concern is handling Greyback._

The three-man party is out of sight – while he's allowed down there, it's always better to avoid arousing suspicion or questions – so he packs away his abandoned half-completed essay and quietly makes his way down the stairs to the cellar.


	6. Undented Armour

**A/N **Honestly, writing Luna is such a blast. If you never have but you like her character, give it a try sometime. It's such a fun, brilliant mindset to occupy.

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><p><em><strong>in her armour, they never made a dent.<strong>_

**(2 May 1998)**

He finds her in the aftermath, sitting at a House table by herself. Which table it is flies passed his notice; everyone is sitting everywhere now, the barriers blurred in light of what they faced together. People keep pausing as they pass to exchange words with her, but none of them linger. They are all grateful to her for her involvement this past year, yet none of them really know her.

To be honest, Draco's not sure if he does, either. The fact that she's half-mad and loves imaginary creatures is public knowledge, but he doesn't know much more than that. He's aware that it might well be too late to do anything about that now. They're adults, legally and magically, and they both fought on opposite sides of a war, and he is going to be on trial for his part in it, and he doubts she'll ever want to tell him about her side of it. The chances are that the thought of telling it to him wouldn't even occur to her. Still, he'd like to try, or at the very least to let her know that he would in a heartbeat if she asked him to.

He gets weird looks from the students he passes. No one's quite sure how to react to him; they know he fought on the other side, but he's not doing anything now, and no one else is bothering to do anything about him. His parents are even less well received. There's no confusion or ambivalence there; people shoot glares at them as they sit abandoned in a corner holding one another and trying to block out the world.

"Luna?" he asks when he reaches her, and he's relieved when she smiles at him. "Can I sit here?"

The girl looks at the empty space beside her with an assessing gaze. "There's enough free space," she says. "Unless you're wondering about whether your knees are able to bend, in which case I think that's a question you should really be asking yourself."

"_May _I sit here, then?"

"I don't own the space. If you're asking whether I'd mind you sitting here, I wouldn't. I think I'd quite like it, actually."

Too exhausted to bother working out what a suitable reply to that might be, he merely sits beside her and says, "I'd ask if you'd like to go for a walk, but I don't think McGonagall would let me out of her sight right now."

"She does seem to be watching you fairly intently. But she might have just been blinded by your hair. Some people think that people can literally get captivated by shiny or bright hair to the point that they will never be able to look away. I'm not sure whether they're right, but it might explain why people traditionally disliked red hair."

He bites back a comment about how it might just have been because they'd met a Weasley; Luna seems to get along with a number of them, although he can't fathom how, and insulting people she likes will only further hinder his cause. "I don't know what will happen to me now," he says in lieu of the insult. "Chances are prison or house arrest. I know neither place would be pleasant for you, but could you maybe consider visiting me? At least once? I regret not staying in contact over the years."

"I would like that," she says softly. "I miss you, too."

"Don't you need to think about it? The Dementors – "

"I don't think Kingsley will want the Dementors to stay as prison-guards. He's never liked them, and no one can defend their loyalties after today. I imagine he would be open to making visitation easier as well, under certain circumstances. We might even be able to negotiate meeting elsewhere in a supervised environment." They are both well aware of exactly what that statement means; Luna is Harry Potter's friend and supporter, and is a pureblood, and few people would have a good reason not to facilitate her visiting her wayward, misguided cousin in the effort to bring him back to the light side.

Draco hadn't expected that line of reasoning from her, however; she'd always seemed uniquely and bizarrely apolitical to him. "Luna – "

Picking up on his changed tone, now curious with the seeds of suspicion instead of merely apologetic, she cuts in like a well-timed Disarming Charm. "I'm sorry, Draco. I think the hidgewiggins have started to overcome me; it's getting harder to concentrate." She fakes a long yawn into her hand. "I find the best remedy to them is to stop thinking for a little while – it appeases them, you know. Could we continue this conversation later?"

While he doesn't want to waste what time they have left before the winners start rallying themselves and take him and his parents away, Draco doesn't know how to counter that. _Is she mistaking tiredness for magical creatures, using fiction as a shield, or correct in her beliefs? _he wonders as he watches her, thinking, for the first time, that his father's assertions that her actions might be an act might just have merit.


	7. Pipes Stop Sounding

_**Finally, pipes stop sounding, they rise like phoenixes,**_

**(15 June 1998)**

It was decided that, while her uncle was sent to Azkaban, her aunt and cousin would be under house arrest for several months. There are certain places that they are allowed to go – namely, Azkaban, the Ministry, and the markets – or people they are allowed to see – such as Kingsley, McGonagall and Luna – without leave, but most of their comings and goings are monitored with the proviso that understanding the terms of their sentence would have their case re-examined, which would most likely result in them being sent to prison as well. Neither had wanted to stay in the manor, however; it felt too haunted by the memories of those who had tyrannised the place just weeks prior. Instead, they've moved into one of the smaller Malfoy properties for the length of their confinement.

The house isn't nearly as opulent as the manor, but Luna thinks it seems much brighter, happier even. It's less imposing, certainly. While it could just be because she didn't have any bad memories attached to it, she doesn't think that's all there is to it. She's never been interested in architecture or design and so can't put her finger on what exactly it is that makes it different, but it seems to be by its very nature less tense. The idea of coming here had been daunting; she's written to Draco frequently, and has even visited him during his brief stint in Azkaban while awaiting sentencing, but she hasn't seen him _here, _in the outside world, yet. They're not unrestricted in the truest sense of the word, but they will have much more privacy than they did in the visitation area.

And she knows what he'll want to ask her.

The sound of her knuckles knocking on the door reverberates through the house, and she can hear answering movement from its depths. It's her aunt who opens the door, looking as blank-faced as ever, and Luna watches as a small smile emerges on the woman's face. Narcissa Malfoy has never liked the girl who looks too much like the woman her husband copulated with and who used to merely serve as a constant reminder that both she and Draco were half-Malfoy half-Lovegood, but the fact that she has been keeping in contact with Draco has started to endear Luna to her. She's a long way from caring about the girl for her own benefit, but she'd do almost anything to protect her for her son's. "Luna, do come in. Draco is in the study."

"Thank you, Narcissa. How have you been?" Luna asks, her tone aggressively polite, as she follows her in. She's grateful for what the older woman did, but she hasn't forgotten all that she didn't do, either.

"Oh, you know," is the dismissive reply. "Yourself?"

"Fairly well. Busy."

Narcissa stops outside a door and casts a series of privacy charms that has Luna's eyebrow rising in curiosity. "You need to know that Draco hasn't been doing too well. I don't know what he's said in his letters, but he's been finding it hard since the war ended. He has to seek governmental permission to visit his father, and many of his friends have also been cut off from him. Your letters are somewhat helpful. Just… be careful when discussing the war. He thinks he's fine to talk about it, but it always affects him."

"Well, it _was _a war," Luna reminds her. "I don't think anybody will be getting over its effects anytime soon. Quite a few of my friends are having to adjust to not being the target of assassination attempts for the first time in almost seven years, after all." She forces her face into a frown. However much she'd love to scold her aunt for her seemingly continued lack of empathy, it wouldn't be the wisest move. Narcissa mightn't like the actions that she and Lucius agreed upon so many years prior, and she might value her son's happiness above most else, but Luna doesn't know where that invisible line of tolerance is. The pride so inherent to both the House of Black and the House of Malfoy runs in her veins, and there's no way she'd like there being a risk of their deception being found out. If the risk grew too steep, she might decide that their reputation and her son's future prospects and worth more than his current happiness and neutralise the threat in the most permanent way she can. "The flibbertiwiggets are obstinate little pests. They choose someone and then poison everybody else's minds against them. It's a game, you see; they like testing how long it will take for them to break people. The more friends and loved ones a person has, the more of a challenge they see it. And, once they latch onto someone, they refuse to let go. I keep telling Harry he needs to get them seen to, but he foolishly thinks it's over now. No; I don't suppose their peace will last long. Now, you said Draco's in the study?"

-h-a-d-

Stacks of parchment surround him in a half-circle like watchtowers manned with ink silhouettes. His head is bent over the desk as he scribbles away at something. "I just need to finish this thought," he tells her, not looking up. "Have a seat. Look around. Do whatever."

Shrugging internally, she starts to bounce on her heels, wondering what to do with this limitless permission. The study is large, much larger than it has any business being. Bookcases line the walls with tomes and trinkets filling their shelves. An ornate desk sits near the window, the light from outside shining down on its burden. A few chairs, comfortable but serious, are strategically placed.

The centre of the room is, however, a big empty patch of carpet.

So she does what any sane, bored person would do, and she does a handstand.

"What are you doing?" he asks when he finally looks up.

"Whatever."

"You know there's no one else quite like you, Luna."

The sustained sensation of blood flowing to her head is making her light-headed, so she rights herself and straightens out her shirt and trousers. They're scandalously Muggle when worn by a girl, but they're practical, and it's another contradiction to throw out at the hounds like meat to sate them over. "There's no one else quite like anyone, Draco. Everyone's different."

"True."

"What were you working on?"

"Studying. I didn't sit my exams. They're offering a chance for anyone who didn't finish them to sit them before the school term starts, and I thought I'd take them up on it. I might not be allowed to sit it at school – disruption to the others or something – but it'd be nice to have them done."

"How's it going?"

"Great." His teeth worry at his lips. "Luna, there's something I need to ask you. I was going to mention it after the battle, but you said something about… I can't remember what they were called, but they were making you tired."

"Hidgewiggins."

"Yes, them. And I've been thinking since the battle, and I've even more sure now than I was then."

"Sure of what?"

"You're hiding something," he says bluntly. "I've no right to ask what it is, I know that, but…"

"But you want to know anyway."

"Yes." He smirks. "Slytherin, after all."

"Do you have privacy charms up?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I add to them?" He shrugs, so she deftly adds extra layers of protection, knowing that there's a good chance that Narcissa can break through her son's usual defences easily. "It's not pleasant; I'm not even sure you'd choose to find out if you already knew what it was," she warns him. He looks unfazed by the information, so she adds, "And you'll need to swear that you won't tell anyone." She pulls out a piece of parchment. "I asked a friend to draft an oath-contract. I thought it would be easier than having him come here. He's already signed it. I'm sure you know how they work. If we agree to it, it will bind us to keeping this oath. We will be unable to break it unless we both willingly agree to annul it."

"We haven't even decided on terms," he says as he takes the document and scans it. _Flitwick, _he notes as he reaches the end of the parchment. Well, that would make it impossible to break.

"My terms are non-negotiable. I'm sorry, but I can't confide in you for anything less."

"What if I were to say no?" he asks. "Not that I will. I want to know, and chances are I'll agree to your terms. But if I said no, I could go tell my father or mother or whoever I wanted that you have some big secret, and I rather think the existence of the secret is part of it."

"I've studied Obliviation. You won't tell anyone about this meeting either way, Draco."

"So," he looks back down at the parchment, "I can't in any way communicate to anyone, or even in written form to myself, anything that you disclose to me today; I can't provide hints; I can't tell anyone that you ever confided anything secret to me; I can't give any indication that you even have this secret; I can't in any way tell anyone who doesn't already know about this that there is even an oath-contract between us; and I need to let you try to penetrate my mind."

"Yes. The other terms prevent you from telling anyone; it doesn't keep them from breaking your barriers. Would you like to start now?"

"Why not?"

"Alright." He's expecting to feel something, but nothing changes. Instead, Luna wanders over to the bookshelves and starts chatting carelessly about the Potions textbook that he left there in case he ever needs to brew something, recalling some of the harder potions and how she and her friend Ginny succeeded in or messed up with making each one. It's peculiar, and he's questioning whether this is a ploy or she really is crazy to some degree when he finally notices the gentle caress of her mind against his. No unwarranted thoughts or memories have come to mind so he assume she's been unsuccessful so far, but he still adds extra fortifications to his walls as if doing so might undo his lack of awareness of her attempt.

"You're decent enough," she says finally, and his haunches metaphorically rise at the hidden slight. "It took longer than I'd have liked for you to notice what I was doing, but you're good at keeping your walls up without thinking about it. Most people go straight for the punch, so that's not likely to be a problem, anyway. You should work on noticing it if you can, though."

"Yeah," he says offhandedly. "But I passed your test, right?"

"You did." Luna's still not sure whether it would have been better if he hadn't. "Shall we sign?"

"Why not?" It's not like he has many other options. He wants to know this thing, whatever it is, whatever it means, and it's evident that Luna isn't going to sway regarding terms. He touches his wand against the parchment and murmurs the ratifying spell, watching as his name appears above Flitwick's as if he's physically written it himself. A wand appears in his field of vision and he watches as Luna ratifies it, too, adding her own magical signature to the mix.

-h-a-d-

It takes less than ten minutes until he reaches for his first drink, and not much longer than that for Luna to have one too. The tale takes a while to tell – Luna's being careful with her words, mentally framing how to convey each point before a single word passes her lips – and after it's over they sit quietly, Luna watching Draco speculatively while he stares brokenly at his glass. "So you're saying my mother isn't my mother."

"Not at all."

"But that's what you – "

"She didn't physically give birth to you, no, but that doesn't mean she isn't your mother. Tell me, Draco; if you had a problem, who would you go to?"

"My father."

"I'm not meaning a problem that can be solved by political power. When you were upset as a kid, or when you were happy as a kid, who did you want to share that with?"

"My mother," he admits. She lets that sit. "She knows. She has to know." A smirk spreads across his face. Forced as it may be, it is still a relief for her to see. "It's a bit hard to not notice something like that." His mirth, however caustic, is woefully fleeting, fading as quickly as it came. "How does this affect us?"

"If you had the chance, would you tell anyone about this?"

"I'd want to, so I could talk it through with someone. But no, I wouldn't."

"Then does it really need to affect us at all?"

He considers that for a moment before asking, "Do you like Gobstones, Luna?"

"Very much so. I don't have my marbles with me, though…"

He manages not to laugh. He's certain she'd have taken it the right way – that, really, he would have found it accurate in the past, but now he's as certain that she _does _have all her marbles as he's ever been – but he's not ready to joke about that kind of thing yet. "We have spare." Draco casts the Summoning Charm and tops up both glasses with more firewhiskey as the small cloth bag flies towards them.


	8. Reality Remains

_**and reality sets in like dried cement.**_

**(15 August 2013)**

They arrive a little later than expected because of an incident at work, so Luna and her boys are already outside when they trudge up around the side of the house. Draco can't see the twins, but the sound of shouts and laughter from the gardens is like a spotlight indicating their location.

"How's Astoria?" Luna asks as soon as she sees them, her hands already pouring a second glass of wine. "They're in the rose garden, dear," she adds for Scorpius' benefit, and the ten-year-old runs off to find his cousins.

"Better. The tests came back negative – her heart's fine – so they're checking for alternative explanations now."

"That's a relief. And you?"

"Same. Father's looking healthier, and he's starting to accept things."

"He's accepting that you aren't Lord Malfoy?" Luna asks, eyeing him disbelievingly. Draco's been running the estate alongside her – she has little to no real interest in it, while he was raised for it – but she's still securely Lady Regent Malfoy, something that Draco has confessed he'd rather not revoke. It was a surprise when he first mentioned it to her, but his explanation of how he feels too much like his father when he runs official errands, and can only imagine how much that would increase if he were in charge of it in totality, warmed her. It still does; he constantly struggles with balancing his lifelong habit of idolising his father with his new appreciation for the severity of the man's faults, and every time he chooses the right thing over the Lucius Malfoy thing feels like another small victory in a war she's slowly but surely winning. His father, however, was furious when he found out that his son was being denied his birthright, declaring that it was a travesty and must be rectified. She didn't expect him to ever start capitulating, let alone so soon.

"Oh, no. He's still mad about that. Doesn't suspect you, but mad. It's my stance on it that he's starting to accept. He knows I couldn't have handled the attention and derision, and is starting to warm up to the idea of me playing second fiddle while the family gets back on its feet. He also believes that neither Lorcan nor Lysander have any interest in succeeding you in the role, and so that it will revert back to Scorpius once he's seventeen. Especially given…" His voice cuts off, and he hopes she'll ignore the unfinished sentence. It's been a while since the event, but he knows she's not fully over it yet, even if she won't care what Lucius Malfoy or the Wizengamot think about it.

"Given Rolf's 'indiscretion'?" It doesn't hurt nearly as much anymore. At first it had felt like her idyllic world had been an illusion weaved by pixies and now slowly unpicked by them, but the new world she was faced with isn't feeling so glum anymore. Rolf's job means he's frequently out of the country, so she's well and truly had space to deal with what he did and move on. Yet, despite his wandering everything, her ex-husband is set on still being as present in the boys' lives as his job allows, removing any guilt she might have towards the influence on them. They're smart boys, having inherited her aptitude for mindfulness, and it's not like he'd seen them all that much more frequently before the divorce, imagines that it would have been different if her life weren't so tied down here. Rolf's interest in naturology, something she would have done if she'd had the chance, had been what had drawn her to him, but it was also one of the main forces in tearing them apart. If she had been able to travel _with _him…

_No, _she thinks. _My being here while he was there gave him the opportunity and conditions to cheat, but they weren't the main or only factors. He might have done it otherwise, or he might have stayed closer to home. It's not my fault, or my responsibilities' fault. I can't keep looking back like this._

"Yeah. He thinks that the Wizengamot would lean towards Scorpius over either of your boys because he'll have been raised with traditional values, or some hogwash like that."

"Hmm."

"So, yeah, he feels that I'll do my time for the family, hiding in the background and regaining respectability, until the innocent child who wasn't even alive back then is of age and can take over directing the estate."

"Do you agree with him?"

"Not in the way that he means, but he's not the only one who thinks that Scorp's going to be fixing the direction our family's gone in."

"You've had a hand in that too, you know."

"I do. It's just… Scorpius is innocent of all of that. He knows a bit about it, enough to know he's not interested in it, but he has no idea of the extent of it, and he probably never will. I might be changing myself, and changing things, but he's the one with the completely blank slate."

"Don't we, in a way, always have a blank slate?"

"Not with other people."

"Well, no. They remember things and have expectations, good or bad. But do they really matter?"

"Some people do," Draco says, watching as the three boys run out of the rose garden, heading for a huge mound of mulch Luna bought to plant fruit trees in. "But I get what you're saying. The people who judge you don't."

"Yes. And each second is new. People change their minds like the wind; they might keep going as they are, but they just as easily might start blowing in the other direction. Sometimes it's hard to change, sometimes it's incredibly easy. I used to bite my nails out of habit and because I didn't see why I shouldn't. Then, one day, I decided I wanted them long. I haven't slipped up since, and if you look at my nails now you can't even tell that I used to bite them." She displays her nails, all poking up above the top of her fingertips, to him as evidence of her point, and he has to admit that you really can't tell. "Things still linger – what you've agreed to, what you've said… Things do still impact. But that doesn't mean you can't start afresh, reinvent yourself, _keep _inventing yourself. You don't need to be a child for that luxury."

"Thanks, Luna. I know that; it's just hard with Father back at the manor. If I tell him where I stand now, he'll retaliate somehow, but then being around him makes me feel like I'm sixteen again."

He knows his slate will never be completely clean, the faint remnants of past chalk marks displayed like scars. Society will never see him as completely innocent of his actions as a teenager. His father will always see him as a pawn who, while demanding protection, must be moved to the opposite side of the board and made into a queen. His mother will constantly see him as the boy who she didn't have the resources to help. Still, his wife sees him as a man worth marrying, and his son sees him as the hero who can fix anything, and his cousin sees him as a man with the potential to make his own choices. And he knows that he needs to do whatever he has to in order to keep seeing himself as someone who can and must chose his own way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So, the original prompt was:

'Characters are best friends as children, then move away (or something) and forget, they reunite become friends then partners - they find out about their childhood friendship in a sentimental way later.'

Probably self-evident now, but I took some liberties in changing the nature of their relationship and loosening the sense in which they 'forget' and 'find out'. Again, if you'd like to write a fill for the prompt, please let me know and I'll link the others to it as well.

Also, in case anyone's interested, the reasons behind this interpretation of Luna are:

- purebloods are known to be interrelated, and Draco and Luna both share some recessive phenotypes, so it's likely that they are especially closely related;

- we have the Black family tree, and if Xenophilius and Lucius were brothers they'd share a last name, so the connection must be between Pandora and Lucius;

- given how recessive Draco's traits are and what we know about the phenotypes of the Blacks, it's incredibly unlikely for him to be Narcissa Malfoy's son;

- looking at the series from this perspective would both explain why the Weasley children don't seem to have met Luna before school and raise the question of why there's no acknowledgement of her heritage;

- a chapter my brother read (Chapter 66 of Odd Ideas by Rorschach's Blot – I haven't read any of it, but it sounds really interesting) had a line about how Malfoys don't have accidents, and the week of Luna's mother's death was a good one for her brother; and

- the aforementioned chapter also explored that, if this were all the case, Luna would be seen as a threat in any house, while the persona of Loony Lovegood would just be dismissed.


End file.
